


but the old man is not there, and the cats are all gone

by staticbees



Category: Everyman HYBRID
Genre: Blood and Gore, But today is not that day, Candleverse, Gen, I swear I'll write an actual EMH fic someday, Run-On Sentences, copious House of Leaves references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 16:14:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15538059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticbees/pseuds/staticbees
Summary: There's a monster on his heels, and so he runs.





	but the old man is not there, and the cats are all gone

**Author's Note:**

> "Something else has taken their place. Something I am unable to see. Waiting.  
> I’m afraid. It is hungry. It is immortal.
> 
> Worse, it knows of whim."

Jeff is running, legs threatening to give out from under him, muscles burning, feet pounding the pavement. The buildings around him are contorted and deformed like melting candle wax, the sky hanging pitch black and endless above him, like a gaping maw, the pinpricks of stars, pupils glinting in the light of a flashlight beam, swallowed up by spilled ink clouds. He feels, no, he _knows_ that some _thing_ is watching him, hands shaking like a flickering candle flame, heart pounding in his chest, a heavy dread roiling in his gut, eyes glistening red with blood staring out from the darkness. [ _“There’s something here. It’s following me. No, it’s_ stalking _me.”_ ] He understands now, understands everything, but it’s still not enough, he still can’t get away, can’t go fast enough, he still has to run, and keep running, until his breath is coming in gasps and his chest aches and blood rushes in his ears. [ _“I’m not alone. I’m not alone.”_ ]

 

His mouth tastes metallic, like copper and rust, skin scraped and smudged with dirt, his last few days replaying in his mind, over and over, memories like shards of shattered glass digging into his skull - remembers pleading for people to _please, just stop watching us_ , remembers bare shoulders running red with blood and ink, remembers _fuck you_ spit in the face of an uncaring god and the raw screams that tore from his throat as razor sharp blades dug into his flesh, blood under his fingernails, slick and warm pooling on the floor beneath his desperate scrabbling hands. [ _“Let the cold water run. It’s gotta warm up eventually. Right?”_ ]

 

He knows he’s going in circles, knows he can’t get out of this place, but HABIT is right behind him, laughter ringing out of the darkness, his voice a twisted, warped mockery of Evan’s, distorted and echoing slightly, as if he’s speaking with two voices at once, and Jeff can’t stop, can’t slow down, or he knows he’ll catch him, and he shudders to think about what would happen to him then, no, he _knows_ what would happen to him then, and he can’t bring himself to comprehend going through it a second time, static filling his brain with a flat buzzing until his hands don’t feel like his own and the flat hiss of white noise feels like it’s suffocating him, like hands tightening around his neck hard enough to leave bruises, dull purple welts marking where fingers dug into his skin, pressing on his throat until he could barely choke out a breath—

  
[ _“I am not what I used to be.”_ ]


End file.
